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Cotton Mouth

One more thought on the pain management topic, and then I’ll move on. Morphine is a very fine medicine and effective pain killer. It doesn’t reach everything, like the persistent back spasm gripping my left shoulder blade, but it manages everything else quite well thank you. Nevertheless, morphine has side effects. The one I want to talk about is dry mouth. When I woke from the anesthesia and my daughters came to see me in ICU, my mouth was completely dry, to the point of sticking to itself. Talking through a wad of cotton mouth was impossible, eliciting polite giggles […]

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Pain Management

I’m back! It is Day 11 following lung surgery on March 3 to remove the upper lobe of my left lung along with the shrunken remains of a cancerous tumor encased therein. I got a very encouraging pathology report—the radiation/chemo treatments really worked—and anticipate one more round of chemotherapy administered out of an abundance of caution. You can read more medical details at my Caring Bridge site. Lacking strength for more than one big task a day, I have been collecting topics to write about as my stamina returns. In the next few days I will be sharing some of

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Come in Weakness

One last blog on the subject of fatigue: The present circumstances have caused me to experience fatigue in a much different way than I have the past sixty years. In decades past, tiredness of the usual kind was remedied by sleep, because the cause was hard work, long days, or stress. When a pastor, for instance, is denied sleep because of ministry’s demands, a sleep deficit is created. The only way to pay it back is to get the sleep one lost. [On this subject, I highly recommend William C. Dement’s book The Promise of Sleep, in which he identifies

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Come to the Waters

Continuing my thoughts on the subject of fatigue, my memory goes back to the early days of motherhood, before the babies were sleeping the night. How many months can a person go without uninterrupted sleep? With Darling Daughter #1, God had mercy on me in six weeks, after which we could get seven or eight hours straight. But Darling Daughter A (born weighing 9 pounds, 6 ounces, by the way) was still waking up in the middle of the night at five months. I remember being so completely exhausted in September 1983 that I cancelled my involvement in every single

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The “Come to Jesus” Moment

I wonder sometimes if the slow-motion Christian discipleship I am undergoing as a cancer patient is giving me the opportunity to revisit issues, temptations, and misdirections of my past life as a pastor. Today the theme is fatigue, felt persistently now for weeks. It seems the effects of chemo and radiation sneak up on a person well after the treatment period is over. For me, what I had imagined would be almost six weeks of steady strengthening has turned out instead to be a disappointing holding pattern. Last week I had a short-term set back in the form of “the

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Hanging on to Hope

I haven’t written the last few days because I came down with a bug, starting with a scratchy throat and ending with laryngitis, a cough, and a low-grade fever. It was probably something I picked up at church last weekend, so I stayed home this weekend to avoid the germs. It’s hard to believe that seven days ago, I was hiking 2+ miles per day and feeling wonderful and optimistic. Since Wednesday, the dominant feelings have been lethargy, discomfort, and concern as my symptoms accumulated. Having lung cancer makes one a bit skittish about what would otherwise be normal winter

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Fading Glory

Two weeks ago today I had my last chemotherapy infusion for Round 3. By all accounts, my recovery from its negative effects has been unusually quick and thorough, much more so than Round 2. I am hiking at least two miles a day now to build up my strength and to regain cardio-pulmonary endurance for surgery March 3. God has been very good to squash any queasiness or sleepiness I had in previous rounds, and it is nice to say life is getting back to normal. The drugs continue to create an extremely inhospitable environment for the Beast in my

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People Need Some Good News

Yesterday I got to meet with my “Peet’s Ladies,” fellow gym enthusiasts who gather daily for coffee at Peet’s next door after their workouts. They saw me through the window coming into the coffee shop, and it was a joyful reunion. We sat down for a cuppa and caught up with each other. My prayer list for each one was renewed, and they were encouraged to see me with their own eyes and know that I was doing well. During all this treatment for my lung cancer since November, I have had a steady parade of home visits from friends,

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The Lost Keys

Somewhere and some time last fall, I lost my car keys and accompanying house key. Thank heaven my church keys were on a separate ring at the time. It happened just about the time I was finding out about my cancer, still in the hub-bub of unpacking from a long vacation, switching purses, re-organizing for “normal” life.  Because I wasn’t driving once treatment started, the car key was not needed; but the house key had sentimental value because it was covered with Stanford logos. A small thing, I know, but I was ticked to have lost it. For a long

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The Acceptance of Tragedy

Our newspaper has been covering two tragic situations in the last month, that warrant some reflection in light of my previous series on dying and death. The first involves a fourteen-year-old girl Jahi McMath, who died after sudden complications from surgery to remove her tonsils and repair sinuses. I—and the state of California—say she died, because in the course of this medical emergency, her brain ceased all function to the point of “brain-death.” This is not a permanent vegetative state but the complete stoppage of all neurological activity in all areas of the brain. The complicating factor was that she

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